Proteus's Promise
by TalyaJB
Summary: The unknown enemy is the one you should fear the most. The Great War is over, but Megatron's trial uncovers a piece of dark evidence: a journal that could plunge Cybertron into an interspecies war. To save the Cybertronian race from extinction, Optimus and Megatron join forces to stop the resurrected Senator Proteus from unleashing his revenge. But it may already be too late.
1. Prologue

_They say that The Clampdown began with the Matrix of Leadership. They say it began with the greed of Cybertronian sparks. They are wrong._

 _We came to this world as explorers. We stayed as conquerors. All the while, the natives never suspected that we were the ones in control. They never assumed that our greed led to their downfall. For centuries, I have watched my family's plans come to fruition. I have diligently watched my father's work. I have opposed my ancestors' wishes, yet I am alone in that endeavor._

 _The Cybertronians have the right to be left alone. They have the right to know about our kind, and the right to choose for us to stay on their planet. This is not our planet. We have no right to control it._

 _Yet my people, my family, do not agree with my sentiments towards the natives. They say the natives are ignorant brutes, crude and primitive. My father spoke of the natives one day: "Their whole disgusting race is like a curse." They're only good when dead. Dirty, shrieking devils. Filthy little heathens. Vermin. Scum._

 _Savages._

 _My people, the Children of Eldran, were once explorers in ancient times. We moved from star system to star system; tracking the movements of the stars and mapping our way across the galaxy. We told stories of our ancient homeland and the brothers we left behind. We rested from time-to-time on random, suitable planets, but then each Queen of the Four Guardians would command The Exodus, and then our race was on the move again. However, when we came here, something went wrong. A Queen of the Four Guardians was never born, and—considered to be divine providence—we stayed. We grew hateful. We grew into warriors._

 _My ancestors arrived on this planet with high hopes for the future. Queen of the Four Guardians Hija passed away on the flight from Arcus 4 to Cybertron, so the Royal Family decreed we settle in Talus and make peace with the natives. Our first delegates made their way out to the nearest settlement and never returned._

 _That was when our outlook changed. The new settlers feared for our lives and rushed to hide ourselves away from Cybertronian eyes. We built the walls that still stand to this day. We cowered in fear as we saw Cybertronians shed the blood of their own. We had never known such terrors as violence and war. We reviled it. We hated it. We grew resentful of being captives in our own city. Too afraid to venture outside our walls, but without the power to leave the planet. Our superior technology was useless to us without our greatest power source. Then the Laws of Secrecy were written and enforced strictly to preserve ourselves. The resentment grew._

 _Stripped of our identity, our hatred turned to the Cybertronian race. Then my Grandfather of my Grandfather bore the fruit of a new idea: conquer our conquerors. We would turn their system on its head and use the inferior ones to power our escape. We would be free and get revenge on our captors all at once. He ventured out into the wider world disguised as an ordinary Cybertronian and manipulated and clawed his way to the side of Nova Prime._

 _"Why not," said he who was my Grandfather's Grandfather to the Prime, "why not build a society where all are equal by virtue of their alt-mode? Why fight for choice when the choice has already been made?"_

 _It was so that Sovereign Gimangen sowed the seeds of functionism and sowed the seeds of Eldran control of Cybertron. A seed that has sprouted as time has passed with careful nurturing by my family. A seed that I am guilty exists at all. A tree that I want to burn but am powerless to stop my father. For now that he holds the power of the world in his hands, he loathes to let it go. And though I may be the one who could order Eldran to leave Cybertron when I am of age, I fear I may never live to see that day._

 _My name is Princess of the Four Guardians Amaithea, daughter of Sovereign Proteus and Neiji, direct descendant of the First Guardian, Raijin-Oh, next in line for the throne of Eldran. I leave this journal behind—written in Cybertronian tongue—so that if the worst befalls Cybertron, that you do not blame yourselves for what occurred._

 _Blame us._

 _Blame me._

"No. Absolutely not."

"Prowl."

"No Optimus! I won't accept this unverified document as evidence! I can't!" the back and white mech shook his head as if stung.

The massive stadium was packed to capacity with furious, bloodthirsty Autobots. Megatron, the great leader of the Decepticons, was finally caught and brought before a tribunal for crimes against the species. This was payback time, but all they could do for the moment was watch Ultra Magnus and Prowl hiss in hushed tones back and forth at one another before Optimus Prime's bench. The crowd was angry. It wanted blood.

"This document is hardly unverified," Ultra Magnus scoffed, "Perceptor and Nautica both verified its age. This document proves beyond reasonable doubt that my client is innocent."

"It proves nothing!" Prowl snarled, "We can't prove that this 'Amy-tea-.'"

"I believe it's pronounced 'Am-I-They-uh.'"

"Whatever. We can't prove this _Amaithea_ ," he derisively emphasized the name out of spite to throw the word back at Ultra Magnus, "ever existed. This whole document could be fabricated even if the document is as old as it claims!"

"But if the journal is-."

"Enough. I've heard enough," Optimus sighed, "I will allow the document into evidence unless you, Prowl, can prove it's a fake."

Prowl looked thunderous.

"The journal of Amaithea will be allowed into evidence," Prime announced for the watching crowd to hear.

Autobots in the stadium and watching via broadcast roared in anger. Decepticons that were pirating the broadcast cheered.

Prowl turned on his heel and stomped back to his podium to Optimus's right, growling to himself about 'getting a real historian'. Ultra Magnus shook his head sadly. He moved massive bulk back to his side of the arena. Megatron stood to the side of the podium and Ultra Magnus tried not to make eye contact with the red-eyed tyrant, but the other mech's eyes seemed to burn into his blue paint. Ultra Magnus willed himself not to shiver as he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the hateful Megatron.

"Elita," Optimus called to the femme, "Please come here. I want you to read this aloud."

His conjunx endura stood and glided over to her husband. Her lithe, pink body made barely a sound in the now silent arena. The entire Cybertronian race waited with baited breath as Elita One took the journal into her outstretched hand.

Elita cleared her throat and brought both microphone and datapad closer to her face. Finally, she began.

" _They say that The Clampdown began with the Matrix of Leadership. They say it began with the greed of Cybertronian sparks. They are wrong._ "


	2. Chapter 1

_The Journal of Amaithea: Cybertronian Calendar 74_ _th_ _Cycle 03._

 _Today is the day of the most-holy of Eldranian festivals. The Festival of the Four Guardians of Eldran celebrates the story of our creator, the Goddess of the Light Eosha Novy—Queen of the New Dawn, and her sons, The Four Guardians of Eldran: Raijin-Oh, Ganbaruger, Gosaurer, and Daitei-Oh._

 _The story goes that Eosha Novy was created by a young race of scientists. The young race was finally braving their way into intergalactic travel when they came upon a great and ancient Stellar Empire. The older races in the Empire welcomed the new race with open arms and taught them many wonders. Gratefully, the young race returned home with incredible riches and knowledge. To express their gratitude, the young race built their greatest creation as a tribute to the Empress: a dancing robot in her likeness._

 _The Empress loved the gift. In her joy, she began to dance with the mechanical doll. It is said that they danced together for 100 years and a day, robot and organic tangled as one in a beautiful reverie. Such a dance was never danced before nor since. They moved like water over the ground and flew through the skies like the air itself. With such purity that exuded from the Empress' heart, the robot sparked consciousness. That life-force is still with us today. Each one of our sparks is a tiny sliver of that first dance, of that moment where new life was born from the purest of joy._

 _As the first robot ever armed with the power of sentience, the robot renamed herself Eosha Novy, The New Dawn. She intended to spread her newfound joy to the rest of machine-kind and work in unison with the organic beings. And so, with the blessing of the Empress—her friend and mentor—, she began her work._

 _She split her soul and placed it into her first son, Raijin-Oh: Son of the Sky, and Guardian of Wisdom—the Patron of the Royal Family. The second was Ganbaruger: Son of the Earth, the Guardian of Balance. The third was Gosaurer: Son of Fire, and Guardian of Courage. The last was Daitei-Oh: Son of Water, the Guardian of Compassion._

 _Each brother fought tirelessly to protect their mother until the day she passed. In sorrow, the brothers parted ways and continued their mother's legacy by splitting their own sparks and placing the fragments into their children._

 _All Eldranians, no matter of what lineage, celebrate this day as the one where the families reunited for the first time since the Guardians parted ways. The day when the first Queen of the Four Guardians, Juna, gathered all Eldranians together again. We gather, young and old, large and small, noble and common, to tell stories of our fallen family members and give thanks to their memories. We remember the legacy of our race and pray for a long, happy future for our kind. It is a happy day. For we are never lost without our family. We are never lost when we are together._

 _Since I became an Eldranian adult only a few weeks ago, I was excited to truly interact and celebrate with my people for the first time without being relegated to the sidelines like the minors. But something went horribly wrong today. I was caught up listening to the stories of an Elder Cousin, when my father returned home from the Cybertronian Senate to join the festivities. We gathered around my father, for he seemed in great distress, and it was at that moment when my heart quailed. My father's eyes were filled with hate. Filled with such disgust that I was repelled. I had never seen such an expression upon my father's features before. His lips curled as he spat venomous words from his mouth:_

 _"Be they damned! Be they damned for those heathens know not of this most holy day! They immerse themselves gratefully in squalor and hate. Black as the eye of a black hole be their sparkles shells. They are walking corpses! They glory in their grime! Savages! They deserve everything that I will dispense upon them! They deserve nothing but scorn! We will use the slag from their melted husks to power our ships and fly far from this sty of a planet!"_

 _Then my world collapsed as I saw my people explode with rage. Such vileness my ears have never heard from the mouths of my gentle people! As I write I weep. I cannot bear to write all that I heard, but I will not forget the poisonous words, the unspeakable acts my people—My Cousins! - wished to inflict upon the Cybertronian race. I am consumed by misery and woe. Daitei-Oh would be so reviled by us now. Surely, he would reject us as his children. And I fear for the Cybertronians. They know not of the seething giant at their feet that is slowly eating them away._

 _I took Father aside. I needed to know what happened for him to react so crudely and cruelly. Father told me that nothing bad had happened at all. The speech was for mere political grandstanding! Horror enveloped me._

" _You must learn to keep our Cousins happy, daughter," he said, "they have great hate of the Inferiors. You must cultivate that hate. Preen it. Nurture it. For it is within hate that there is power."_

 _I do not want power._

" _Fear not dearest one," he continued, "Our family will soon have all we need. The Senate is full of weak fools, thanks to Sovereign Neron."_

" _Maybe Grandfather was wrong!" said I._

 _Father's face darkened._

" _They are not like you and me, young one. You have not seen them. I have. They are dirty, heinous things. Terrifying and hungry. Baseless. Everything I said and worse. What we are doing is for our own protection."_

" _But what of them?"_

 _Father laughed._

" _Do not fret over them. They are nothing. Inferiors. What we do to them is for their own good. Could you imagine what would happen if they left his planet? What damage they would cause? No. Better to let them rot here. Everyone is safer this way."_

" _But-!"_

" _No more contradictions! You will understand what they are like when you stand in my place, but for now, trust me, daughter! Trust me!"_

 _I do not._

 _Not anymore._

Present Day: 36th Cycle 24366.

"Why, Megatron?" Optimus stood outside of the glowing energon bars, looking in at the silver mech hunched over in his cell.

"That's a rather broad question, Prime," Megatron snorted, looking at his palms.

"Why did you turn yourself in?"

Megatron sighed and glanced at Optimus Prime out of the corner of his eye. However, he remained unusually still and calm for the violent mech Optimus knew. Such behavior usually indicated some sort of plan that was being presently executed, a habit that Optimus didn't appreciate in the slightest.

"I refuse to talk to you Prime, not without my legal representative."

"You know that if I wanted the information bad enough, I could always call in a mnemosurgeon. I'm sure someone would be willing to get into your skull as revenge for what you've done."

Megatron turned his full attention on Optimus. His optics blazed with a primal fury that would quell any other mech besides Optimus.

"Do that, and both you and the surgeon won't live to see tomorrow."

Optimus folded his arms over his chest, unimpressed by the threat. He'd heard that line a million times before. It hardly fazed him now.

"Besides, Prime," Megatron snarled, "isn't there some law about fair treatment of prisoners and willing cooperation of defendants somewhere? You wouldn't dare flaunt the law so openly before my trial. Somebody might get the wrong impression about you Autobots."

"Wordy bastard, aren't you?" Optimus growled, unable to deny what Megatron said.

Megatron did not respond. Optimus snorted.

"Whatever the reason, Megatron, it will come to light. There is nothing I won't find out at this trial. I will probe. I will prod. I will crack you so wide open that you won't be able to ever hide again. Nothing is sacred. No stone will be left unturned. You will be left as a cold, soft, shell-less mass of spare parts. Everyone will know the cowardly, neurotic spark that I know you've tried to hide for so long. You worthless, insecure-!"

"If you're trying to insult me, Prime, I suggest you vary your repertoire of profanity. Your slanderous accusations repudiate your assumption that the aforementioned subcategory of declarations will incite my aggravation since my aggression has not been impelled."

The slew of eloquent statements threw Optimus for a loop. He quickly recovered by blinking and sorting through the gibberish that Megatron spouted, but all the Prime could say in response was an intelligent:

"What?"

"Prime," Megatron sighed as if he was exasperated by the antics of an annoying child, "Stop trying to indict me of executing some grand scheme. I have none."

"Then why did you turn yourself in if you don't have some greater purpose? Don't tell me that you actually feel _guilty_ about what you've done?" Optimus crossed his armed across his chest and snorted in disbelief.

"My reasoning is for me to know and for me _alone_ to know."

Optimus narrowed his optics in annoyance. He had hoped his little verbal spar would have presented the perfect opportunity for Megatron to explain himself. Megatron could be more perceptive than Optimus gave him credit for. He had dodged Optimus's verbal punch, and left Optimus open for a blow instead. So, Optimus decided to switch tactics.

"Astute observation, Megatron," Optimus praised his nemesis, "you caught me red-handed trying to make you spill your secrets. You're shrewder than I ever expected."

"Your mistake, Optimus, is that you believe you are of the same mental caliber as me. As the humans say: 'you shouldn't swim with sharks if you are a minnow.'"

The insult stung. Optimus felt himself involuntarily wince from its impact. Megatron noticed the movement and grinned with the primal pleasure of a predator that had cornered its prey.

"Don't bite off more than you can chew, Prime."

"You like to think that you're so special, Megatron. You think that nobody is like you. You're too great to ever be in the same category as the rest of us 'common mechanisms'," Optimus let bitterness slide into his tone involuntarily.

Megatron shrugged.

"I can't help that I was built to be a superior paragon of perfection."

"You were an energon miner," Optimus deadpanned, hardly believing the depth of his nemesis's narcissism, "An energon miner who was constructed cold in a facility along with several hundred others who were all built _exactly_ like _you_."

"I was different from the others."

Optimus shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't take this anymore. It was time to cut his losses and leave before he did something he was going to regret later.

"You know what, Megatron, forget it. This whole game, it's over. There is nothing more I can get from you. This is pointless to continue."

"I appreciate your brief contact with wisdom, Prime," Megatron sniffed, "Care to do it more often?"

Optimus pinched the bridge of his nose and turned on his heel. He began to march up the long, dark hallway of the Metroplex Penal Facility. His footsteps echoed angrily throughout the metal walls. He had to leave _now_.

"I will be presiding over the proceedings, Megatron," he called over his shoulder, "your hearing begins tomorrow. Don't think I won't get what I want in the end. You're in prison and I have the last laugh no matter what you say or do in the meantime. _I have the last laugh_!" He bellowed the last line out of frustration.

The door at the far end of the hall that led to the cells opened as Optimus swiped his keycard over the wall panel. Bright light illuminated the cells, covering Megatron in stripes of light and shadow from the bars. Optimus caught a flare of red from Megatron's eyes out of the corner of his eye, before he passed through the doorway. The heavy metal door sealed shut and locked again with a loud thud, plunging Megatron into the lonely dim lights that hung above the cell doors.

Optimus stormed up the brightly lit, almost sterile white halls. Autobots that came into proximity of him practically jumped out of his way. Fear lit up their faces as he passed. He was seething from his fruitless encounter with the former Decepticon leader but was failing to hide his rage. But they didn't know that. Optimus felt a wave of guilt wash over him, before it was again replaced by rage.

He proceeded up the hall, aimlessly wandering about the titan's halls as his rage consumed him. With every step his frustration built. He felt his body heat up with rage. Cooling fans snapped on to prevent his body from entering critical meltdown.

His rage was palpable now. Any transformer that could hear his approach turned and fled. Optimus was left unbothered to seethe in his roiling emotions. Optimus saw Bumblebee and Bluestreak flee. Sunstreaker dived into a random door that he clearly did not intend to enter before he caught sight of his raging leader. Prowl flattened himself against the wall, clutching his datapads to his chest as if they were talismans that granted him invisibility.

Optimus growled. His anger overcame him. With primal fury, he brandished his fist and swung with all his might. His fist pummeled the wall, rending a deep hole in its smooth surface. Metal split and twisted under the force of the blow. Optimus tried to pull his hand away for another blow, but his fist refused to budge.

Optimus snarled again. He was trapped like a tiger in a cage. He pulled and tugged, snarled and roared, but to no avail. His fist stayed resolutely jammed into the wall.

The mighty leader of the Autobots paused, looking hard at his fist. Maybe staring could remove his hand from the metal wall.

Footsteps rounded the corner.

"Well aren't you a sorry sight for sore eyes!" Ironhide said cheerfully as he quickly surveyed the situation.

Ironhide moved next to his leader and reached out to help Optimus extract his hand from the wall. With herculean effort, Optimus wrenched his hand free with a strained groan before Ironhide could reach him. He leered at the other red mech.

"Out of my way Ironhide. I'm busy."

Ironhide snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked miffed.

"Not busy enough to not stop and punch a hole in the wall," Ironhide sulked.

"Go away," Optimus elegantly responded with a sneer.

"Why? So that you can continue to scare the troops witless?"

"I don't have time for this."

Optimus turned to continue his lonesome storming. Ironhide jogged to keep up with the rapid footfalls of his angry superior. Lagging, the slightly shorter mech called out to his friend.

"Wait up!"

Optimus paid the call no mind as the two continued to stride down the hall. Ironhide continued to dog Optimus's footsteps, much to the Autobot leader's irritation.

"Go away Ironhide!"

Tracks bolted away from Optimus at the sound of his leader's bellow. Ironhide remained unruffled by the tone but frowned with concern.

"Optimus, can we talk? In my office?"

"Later. Leave me alone."

Ironhide looked skeptical. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by Optimus, who turned to stomp away. Ironhide caught his shoulder before he could run off again. Optimus responded by punching Ironhide in the mouth. Ironhide stumbled back, more in shock than pain, clutching his bleeding mouth. Optimus stared in horror at the resulting carnage for a solid second. He rapidly shook himself out of his stupor and grabbed Ironhide's arm before the swaying mech could fall.

"Ironhide—." Optimus began to apologize as both mechs sunk to their knees, but it was Ironhide's turn to interrupt.

"My office! Now!" Ironhide's bellow was enough to break Optimus out of his stupor.

The stout mech stood up to his full height. Even though Ironhide's eyes were barely level with Optimus's chin, Optimus began to feel like he was three feet tall under the shorter mechs menacing glare.

Optimus, abashed, meekly followed his friend down the hall. Two left turns later, the two reached a simple metal door with a sign marking the interior as Ironhide's office. Ironhide forced the door open, none too gently. He pushed Optimus gruffly inside. Optimus slunk to the single, circular window at the far end of the small, undecorated office. He stared out the window, trying not to wince as Ironhide slammed the door shut behind them and marched to his desk chair. Ironhide fell with a heavy thud into his chair, as Optimus felt the other mech's blue optics bore holes into the back of his head.

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Ironhide roared.

"Sorry Ironhide." Optimus apologized softly while shaking his head, "I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Sure, you do Optimus. And I know too. You're always on edge when you talk to _him_."

Ironhide's face darkened at the implied mention of Megatron. He snarled and pulled a cube of energon onto his desk, yanked the top off and delicately sponged the life-giving liquid onto his wounded lower lip. Ironhide was a staunch believer that this sped up the healing process, even though Ratchet firmly warned against it. Optimus wasn't about to criticize, however, since he was the one who gave Ironhide the injury. Instead Optimus continued his apology.

"I shouldn't let him get to me. That's my fault. I'm sorry Ironhide."

"Not your fault," Ironhide shrugged as he moved the dabbing to his chin, "He knows how to get under your skin. I understand."

"Thanks, Ironhide," Optimus sadly, yet gratefully, smiled.

"What did he say this time?" Ironhide asked as he closed the cube and placed it back into his desk.

"Nothing. He won't talk."

"That's not like him." Ironhide leaned back in his chair, focusing fully on Optimus.

"I tried to worm it out of him, but Megatron is more astute than I often give him credit for. He is a genius after all, but that's often hard to remember given his track record."

"So, he's avoiding your questions?"

"Exactly," Optimus nodded once.

Ironhide paused for a moment. He swung his chair from side to side as he thought for a moment. He turned his gaze back on Optimus, questions lighting up his eyes like fireflies.

"But what could you possibly want to know from him?"

"Ironhide, don't you think it's suspicious that he turned himself in so easily? He didn't resist. He wanted to be taken in. Why?"

Ironhide shrugged.

"Optimus, quite frankly I don't care why he turned himself in. Neither should you."

"I care about why."

Ironhide rounded on his friend.

"Why? What does it matter what that narcissist intended by turning himself in? Maybe he felt like genocide wasn't getting him enough attention anymore and that the trial would put him back in the spotlight! What if that's his reason? Do you want him to confirm the worst? Does that help Cybertron? Does that help you?"

Optimus didn't answer.

"The bastard is caught. We've won. Nothing else matters," Ironhide crossed his arms over his chest.

Optimus looked at his hands and shook his head.

"But I want to do justice, Ironhide."

Ironhide straightened in his chair to meet Optimus's gaze.

"Justice will be properly served whether he answers why he surrendered. The outcome of the trial does not hinge on his reasoning. It never did."

Optimus bit his lip and broke eye contact. He stared at a spot on the floor by the corner of Ironhide's desk.

"But it matters to me."

"Why?" Ironhide threw up his hands, clearly exasperated, "Why do you care so much?"

"Because if he feels guilty why should we punish him harder than he deserves? If he is truly guilty, then he's going through massive internal trauma. It's not right to exacerbate it."

"Optimus, that's mighty kind of you," Ironhide smiled sadly at Optimus, "but I highly doubt he feels guilty about anything. It's Megatron. He doesn't feel. Unless you count rage and pride.

"Ironhide!" Optimus admonished.

"Optimus, you're turning yourself into an emotional wreck over some made-up idea that Megatron wants redemption! I get that you want to help by giving him that key! But not at the expense of your health! As your friend, I can't watch you tear yourself apart over that monster!"

"Ironhide," Optimus began, but fell silent at the murderous glint in Ironhide's eye. Ironhide clearly wasn't finished.

"Besides, what if what I said earlier was true? That he wants the trial for attention? Or is using it for some grand scheme? How would that make you feel? You work extremely hard; tear yourself apart; lose faith from your troops and civilians alike; and get your hopes dashed by him again. What's the point?"

"But we don't know his reasoning. I don't know if he wants help or not."

"Optimus, Megatron never wants help."

"Are we sure? Should we condemn someone who is passionate about their beliefs without listening to them?"

"Look around you, Prime!" Ironhide snapped, gesturing out the window, "Everyone down there has beliefs. Everyone is passionate about them in their own way. But not all beliefs should be allowed to flourish. Some beliefs are dangerous. Megatron's beliefs are the worst of the worst! The most harmful to the most amount of people!"

"But utility should not determine what beliefs stay and go. If we do that, we're no better than the Functionists. You said that the determining factor was most harmful to most amount? What is 'most'? What is 'harmful'? Who gets to choose what that means? Utility can be perceived in a myriad of ways that can be abused depending on who's controlling it. If we want to build a better future, isn't it better to hear everyone out and come to a logical compromise?"

Ironhide shrugged. His anger had deflated.

"Perhaps, Prime, we may never know. The end of the war brought up more questions than answers, I think. Personally, I'm just happy that it will all be over. We have him in custody. He's on trial tomorrow. He'll be dead by the day after. Shouldn't we celebrate that?"

Optimus shrugged. He turned away from his friend and strode to the window. He gazed forlornly outside. Transformers of all shapes and sizes bustled about in the city below. They looked from that height for all the universe like ants repairing a colony. They bustled about, carrying their heavy loads and burdens. The scrambled back and forth in the city lights. They worked tirelessly below, blissfully unaware of Optimus's crisis.

Optimus reached out and touched the glass. He traced the lines on his reflection's face. He looked so old and worn out now. He held the weight of the world for too many centuries and now wanted nothing more than to toss them aside and let another fool take up the mantle instead.

"I guess, Ironhide. But there is a part of me that needs to know ' _why_?'."

"Suit yourself, Optimus," Ironhide shrugged and moved to the door so that he could take his leave, "suit yourself."

The door closed behind his longtime friend. Optimus was left alone to stare out the window and ponder.

"Why, Megatron?" he whispered into thin air, "Why?"

Now alone in the dark, Megatron slumped forward. The blessed silence filled the cell. The damp air was thick, warm, and almost comforting save for the smell of dried energon in the air from countless previous prison fights.

Megatron felt his emotions begin to strangle him again. His optics burned, His neck tightened, constricting his airflow. His hands shook as he lifted them to his face. He buried his head in his hands in a futile attempt to stifle the overwhelming waves of guilt and sadness. Pain and grief overcame the once mighty mech. He dug his fingers hard into his face and temples in a futile attempt to silence the thunderous screaming voices berating him in his mind. He gasped as his world came crashing down around him.

Megatron began to cry.


	3. Chapter 2

_Cybertronian Calendar 66_ _th_ _Cycle 04_

 _Yesterday Father called me into his personal office for a late-night meeting. I thought that it must be an important meeting, since Father has spent the last three weeks in session at the Grand Imperium in Iacon and he returned to Talus late that evening. The last time I briefly caught a glimpse of him upon his return, he looked rather haggard, so his insistence on a meeting came rather as a surprise. I did not desire to disappoint him when he took away valuable recharge time for my sake._

 _I entered Father's office and he was sitting in his usual chair. He looked terrible. His eyes flickered and were far dimmer than usual. He looked halfway to collapsing onto his desk for a nap. The dim lighting did nothing to improve his appearance and exhaustion._

" _Father?" I asked, "You called?"_

 _Father's head bobbed as he looked up to meet my gaze. He smiled and gestured for me to sit in the chair opposite him. I obliged._

" _My dear Amaithea," Father sighed, "it's glorious to see your shining countenance after so many weeks of staring at the lifeless visages of Cybertronians. How are you, my beloved daughter?"_

" _I am well, Father," I shifted my hands so that I could let them lie in my lap._

" _And my city?"_

" _In your absence," I straightened my back under Father's gaze, "the citizenry has missed your presence dearly. However, you will be pleased to know that the Brave Police have promoted a new Captain."_

" _Captain Deckerd," Father nodded. "I know."_

" _He does well," I reported, "There has been a significant decrease in evacuees and suicides since his promotion. In such a short period of time, that is a remarkable feat of—."_

" _Traitors."_

" _Excuse me, Father?"_

" _Not evacuees, Amaithea. Traitors," Father corrected me, "They are Eldranians who have rejected their true calling and wish to live among the Inferiors. Ergo, traitors."_

" _Isn't that a bit harsh, Father?" I quested cautiously._

" _Not at all," Father stood and glided to one of the windows, "we simply call them what they are. There is no point to sugarcoating the truth."_

 _I shifted uncomfortably. Something in that statement seemed greatly hypocritical. Father noticed my disquiet._

" _You will understand what I mean when you stand in my place," he nodded gravely, "I did not understand when Neron said the same phrase to me. And I'm sure he did not comprehend when he sat in your place while listening to Guijin. It's only natural."_

" _You say that often," I thought._

 _With horror, I realized too late that I said that aloud. Father laughed at my expression._

" _That I do! But only to remind you that you will one day have to make these types of decisions," his face fell, "I'm trying to show you how to make the right ones."_

" _I see," I wrung my hands._

 _Father sighed again. He moved to stand beside me and he rested his hand upon my shoulder. I looked into his eyes._

" _Don't be afraid," Father said, kindly, "The responsibility you will bear is a hard one. Talk to me about your misgivings. I am here to help."_

" _Father?"_

" _Yes?"_

" _When will I take your place?"_

 _Father laughed again. Sometimes I cannot tell if he finds my questions amusing, or if he does not respect my questions._

" _You are just like me at your age!" he chuckled, "I wanted to know the same thing when I sat in your seat. I do not think I ever told you under what circumstances you will take command."_

" _You never have," I confirmed._

 _Father took his seat again._

" _Amaithea," he stated my name gravely, "you will ascend to the throne upon my death or resignation. And, my dearest daughter," he leaned forward to capture my attention, "when I took the throne I swore to never resign. I intend to keep that promise."_

" _Yes, Father."_

" _Your time will come," he smiled gently, "but it will not be for some time, yet. I do not intend to leave you and your mother so soon."_

 _I took my leave a few moments later so that Father could rest._

 _This morning, I needed to talk to Father about something strange that happened to me this morning. However, our conversation did not go as smoothly as last night._

 _It started when my pen fell off my desk. I woke up and was moving about my quarters when I suddenly felt dizzy. My vision speckled. I remember falling back onto my bed. From my vantage point I saw my desk across the room. I saw my pen vibrate from its resting place on top of my journal to the edge. It clattered to the floor and the I saw the tip break off from the impact. I fell unconscious._

 _When I came to, I felt fine. I swore I had imagined the pen falling. I found it back in its place on top of my journal, but something was wrong. The tip of my pen had broken off exactly how I imagined it did._

 _I remember shaking in fear and confusion for five minutes. I needed to talk to someone. I could not manage my feelings without help. I remember going through a short list of people I could trust but eliminating all of them for one reason or another. I finally settled on Father. He could calm me down. Maybe sort this out._

 _He was in his office. Since it was early in the morning, he was getting ready to present himself in the throne room. He was irritated by my interruption, but I insisted that I needed his assistance._

" _Why do you test my patience so early this morning, Amaithea?" he huffed, polishing his arm._

" _I am sorry for disturbing you, Father," I began, sitting on a chair out of his way, "But something strange happened to me this morning. I wanted to ask for your help."_

 _Father halted his harried bustling and turned to face me. His eyes were filled with worry._

" _What happened?" he asked._

" _I fainted this morning," I stated bluntly._

 _Instantly, Father rushed to my side and began checking my vitals._

" _Amaithea!" he scolded, "why did you come to me? We need to get you to a Doctor!"_

" _Father! I am well!" I tried to beat back his hovering, "It's what happened during that moment that concerns me!"_

" _Well, I would think that it does!" he snorted, placing his hand on my forehead to check my internal temperature, "Fainting out of the blue is not a healthy thing, Amaithea."_

" _My pen fell and broke," I blurted._

 _Father froze. He looked at me like I had blown a fuse and was on the point of terminal meltdown. Confusion and concern were plastered to his face._

" _It's okay, you broke it as you fell," he consoled me, "we'll get you a new one."_

" _But I never touched it! I fainted on my bed! I saw the pen move across my desk and fall! When I woke up, it was back on my desk and broken!" I was panicked now._

 _Father blinked again. He seemed very out of his depth now._

" _We'll get you to a Doctor," he said with a scared tone._

 _He opened his communicator and instructed a Doctor to come to my location. I felt my head spin. Was I going insane? Was this the reason why so many Eldranians committed suicide?_

 _I do not wish to die._

 _The Doctors and nurses burst into Father's quarters and spirited me away. The trip to The Talus Medical Hospital and Research Center passed in a whirlwind of motion, light, and sound while I felt myself overheating and spasming from panic. The passage to my room sped by in a blur as I barely registered being pushed on a gurney. I went under anesthesia several moments later._

 _Such blessed stillness. Such gratifying darkness._

Present Day

Several hours after Optimus left Ironhide's office, the large mech found himself wandering through the Metroplex Penal facility's whitewashed walls again. Earlier, the great Autobot leader tried to return to his quarters to sleep. However, his mind was ablaze, and refused to grant him rest. Doggedly, Optimus had made his way back from his new home in Iacon to the site of his earlier mental breakdown. Yet unlike his previous outburst, Optimus now dragged himself languidly through the halls like a specter. He barely acknowledged his men, and he appeared for all intents and purposes to be a moving statute.

Optimus rounded the same corner for what felt like the millionth time. He internally swore that he could see indents in the floor from the number of times his feet had treaded the same path. His feet ached. His back hurt. His eyes were bleary and felt like lead stuck in his skull.

"Optimus," the voice broke Optimus out of his moping.

He lifted his weary head to see Prowl and Ultra Magnus standing in front of him. Both looked rather sour, as if they had been heatedly debating something.

"Good evening, Prowl. Magnus," Optimus acknowledged both mechs in front of him.

Prowl crossed his arms over his chest. The police car's normally sparkling electric blue optics turned a stormy shade of grey-blue, indicating impending doom upon the unfortunate mech held within his gaze.

"Optimus Prime," Prowl formally addressed him, another sign that something bad was coming, "we need to talk about something very urgent. May we speak in your office?"

Optimus blinked. He really wasn't in the mood to hear this. He should be at home with his beloved wife, Elita, but his damn brain walked him straight into both another sleepless night and bad news. He gritted his teeth, tempted to ask for his two lieutenants to wait till tomorrow. In the end, several millennia's worth of good leadership tactics and a well- entrenched habit of kindness won out.

"Sure," Optimus sighed wearily, "let's go."

The small troop of mechs headed around the bend and moved to a waiting elevator. Ultra Magnus held the automatic door open as several mechs that were on night duty, including Jazz, Drift, and Bumblebee, poured into the waiting hallway. They left the elevator unoccupied, save for the three mechs who now entered its hold. The door closed as Optimus pressed the button that would take the group to the top floor where his office was located.

The upward trip passed in silence. Optimus could feel tension in the air so thick that he could have cut it with a knife. Yet he kept silent as the doors opened and Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, and Prowl entered the waiting hallway that looked almost exactly like the floors below it.

A couple of turns later, and the group came upon a nondescript door. It was small and steel like any other door in the Metroplex Penal Facility. But this door had one important difference: it was the entryway into the office of the Prime.

Optimus didn't feel very Prime-like as he sluffed over to his desk and plopped heavily into his armchair. The armchair that he hated because it was made for the Primes before The War. It was sumptuous, lined with thick, airy cushions and dark upholstery. It held finely wrought carvings in alien wood. Gold bolts held it together. It spoke of a time of such decadence and luxury that Optimus scarce felt like he belonged in it. This was a chair for a Prime like Sentinel, someone who liked the grandeur of the Prime title, but never felt the need to hold himself to any moral standard. It exemplified Optimus's antithesis. Worse, the chair represented the corruption that lead to the downfall of Cybertron and Megatron's ascension.

He only kept it because Blaster said that it gave him an air of authority and history that the Neutrals could appreciate. Yet he tried not to let his discomfort show as he asked Ultra Magnus and Prowl to sit opposite him.

"Okay," Optimus sighed, "what's this about?"

Prowl shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable under Optimus's gaze. Optimus frowned, Prowl never felt awkward or uncomfortable bringing him bad news before. Optimus felt worry twist his guts like a vice.

Prowl met his gaze.

"Optimus, I respectfully request that you recuse yourself from judging the trial tomorrow."

Optimus froze.

"Recuse?" Optimus finally asked, "For what reason?"

"Sir," Ultra Magnus spoke, "I too feel that you should recuse yourself on the grounds that you are too biased to handle the matter of Megatron's judgement in a fair and impartial manner."

Optimus's mind began to race. Was he hearing this correctly?

"Furthermore," Prowl continued, "were you to oversee the proceedings, it would give the impression of impropriety in violation of the Code of Judicial Conduct Rule 1.2."

"Under the Comment to the Code," Ultra Magnus continued, "The test for appearance of impropriety is whether the conduct would create in reasonable minds a perception that the judge violated the Code or engaged in other conduct that reflects adversely on the judge's honesty, impartiality, temperament, or fitness to serve as a judge. In this case—."

"Stop," Optimus raised his hand, cutting Ultra Magnus off.

The room fell silent. Cold air seemed to whip up even though the air was still. Prowl shivered. Ultra Magnus gazed calmly into his leader's stormy eyes. Optimus glared back. Neither mech seemed willing to break the gaze. Prowl's door-wings vibrated from the tension and his rapidly buzzing nerves.

"What are you two doing?" Optimus snarled.

"Sir?" Prowl shifted in his seat.

"Do you two want to turn this trial into a farce?" the anger in Optimus's voice rose.

"Sir," Ultra Magnus sighed, "we both are trying to prevent this trial from becoming an intergalactic incident. We think that under the current political climate, it would be most prudent to strictly adhere to all matters, both practical and legal, that are commonly held in a civil court system."

Optimus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He leaned as far back as he could, appraising Ultra Magnus. If they wanted to play hardball, then so was he.

"You think that by pleasing the crowd we'll provide justice?" Optimus sniffed.

"Somewhat, Optimus," Prowl finally felt brave enough to pipe up, "you also have to consider that the average Neutral is hostile towards Autobot authority and the Galactic Council does not hold our species in high regard. So, if we follow all the mandated rules, we create the appearance of justice. We do that, and we don't run the risk of Neutrals and The Council calling foul on Megatron's trial."

Optimus paused. He really did think Prowl's logic had a good point. As the Leader of the Autobots, he was well aware of the precarious political tensions between all Cybertronians and their galactic neighbors. However, there was something about their logic that disturbed him to the core. It gripped his stomach like a vice and wouldn't let go. It was time to stick to his guns.

"Did I hear you right?" Optimus asked, "Just to be sure, Prowl, you think that we should hold up a front of justice? We're not going to provide Megatron with _actual_ justice?"

"Well, in a way we have to, Optimus," Prowl shifted again, "think about where we stand."

"Prowl," Optimus lowered his voice, trying to be as reasonable as he could, "I think about where we stand every minute of every day. My life is torn apart by the weight of the choices I make every moment. Anything that I say and do is scrutinized to a meticulous level. Sometimes, the hardest part of being a leader is knowing when to throw off the pressure of all the eyes watching you and pick the battles you want to fight."

"Sir?" Prowl cocked his head, clearly not understanding.

"Prowl, I'm sticking to justice. I refuse to let politics turn Megatron's trial into a kangaroo court, as the humans say."

Prowl's jaw hung open, as if Prime had spontaneously grown a second head.

"But, Sir!" Prowl gasped in horror.

Prowl spluttered and gasped for several seconds. His eyes practically popped out of his skull. His entire body vibrated for a moment, then fell rigidly still. Optimus guessed that Prowl had crashed and rebooted.

"I do not think that is wise, Optimus Prime," Ultra Magnus took over for the frozen Prowl, "it would appear that we were running a "kangaroo court', as you say, if we allowed you to oversee the proceedings."

"I refuse to let Neutrals see Autobots as a propagandist group of militants through a show court!" Optimus snarled.

"This is not a request to turn the trial into a show court," Prowl rolled his eyes, "Quite frankly, Optimus, I think you are being overdramatic and unreasonable about this."

"Overdramatic?" Optimus spluttered, "forgive me, Prowl, but I'm trying to do what is objectively right for this major moment in our history! Our future can be made or broken depending on how this trial goes!"

Optimus had halfway risen from his seat as he yelled. He could feel himself shaking with frustration. His fingers clutched the edge of his desk, and the old thing groaned and creaked under the strain. His eyes practically popped out of his head. His sparkbeat pulsed in his ears, nearly drowning out all other sounds in the room. Optimus Prime let his rage break.

"If you two were so damn concerned about this, why didn't either of you bring this up before? The goddamn trial is tomorrow! And who would you want to replace me? There's no one else!" Optimus bellowed.

"Yes, there is, sir," Ultra Magnus looked calmly into the raging storm, "Chief Justice Tyrest or Emirate Xaaron are more than qualified to handle a matter of this importance without the added burden of bias."

"Of the two, we wanted Emirate Xaaron to oversee the trial, since Tyrest's whereabouts are currently unknown," Prowl said, keeping his voice level, even though Optimus could tell his anger was building.

"As for the timing," Ultra Magnus responded coolly, "We both have requested extensions of time that need your approval."

"No!" Optimus snapped, "I won't do it! No extension! The trial is tomorrow and _that's that_!" He rounded on Prowl, "And as for Xaaron, he has publicly stated that he gave up his Cybertronian citizenship! He's not qualified to hear the proceeding!"

"And neither are you!" Prowl roared, leaping to his feet.

"I _am_ qualified, Prowl!" Optimus thundered, rising to his full height.

"No, you are not!"

"The only reason you think that I should recuse is that is might look bad!" Optimus sneered, "That's not a good enough reason, Prowl!"

"Yes, it is, _and you know it_!" Prowl fired back, "Deep down you _know_ that the right thing to do is recuse, but you won't because of your—your _obsession_ with Megatron!"

" _Obsession_?!" Optimus spluttered, aghast.

"Don't give me that!" Prowl howled, "everyone knows you never let _anyone_ deal with Megatron besides yourself! No one can touch him so long as you are around to beat him! You're controlling! Obsessed! Remember that time when Jazz had Megatron in a headlock at the Battle of Sherma Point? He was about to bury his fist into Megatron's brain module when you sprinted out of nowhere to rip Jazz away so that you could pulverize Megatron instead! Jazz almost lost his life because of that! You threw one of your best subordinates over the side of a bridge instead of letting a soldier do his job! Then there was the other time that we came up with the plan to blow Megatron's spark housing to smithereens using one of Wheeljack's then-brand- new weapons, but you never green-lit the plan because you said, and I quote, that you 'wanted to give Megatron an honorable death by your hands!' I could go on! The list of times that you prevented someone else from terminating Megatron is incomprehensibly long!"

"Do you have a point, Prowl?" Optimus snarled.

"My _point_ ," Prowl spat, "is that you will never let anyone else decide Megatron's fate besides yourself! You've gone beyond wanting to do justice. You want the glory all for yourself!"

" _Glory_?" Optimus snarled, his blue eyes flashing dangerously, "Megatron is my responsibility, Prowl! I failed to stop him when I had the chance! So, it's up to me to right the wrongs he committed!"

"And there it is!" Prowl snapped, "The perfect evidence that you are biased, and can't see justice for what it really is! You can't control yourself around him, Optimus!"

"I control myself, Prowl, by not murdering him on the spot. The only way to fix what he's done it a fully balanced, fair trial. No one else can give that but me."

"And for whom is this fairness directed at?" Ultra Magnus finally spoke, his deep blue eyes glittered with mistrust, "Him?"

"No!" Optimus shrieked, throwing his hands up, "It's for the future of Cybertron! Think!" he looked pleadingly at his two friends, "What good is a kangaroo court going to do for Cybertron? You said it yourselves, the rest of the Galactic Council doesn't trust us! They have no faith in us! What we have to do now is _restore_ that trust! We don't do that by rushing Megatron to his death! If we do that, it will only prove that we Autobots rigged the outcome to get our way, and that's what the galaxy is waiting to see! They want us to mess this up so that we can be forever condemned. No post-war aid. No future trade deals. No rebuilding. Just isolation. The Council is daring us to make a mistake because the moment we do, we're done."

"And you think that having _Megatron's most well-known nemesis_ _oversee his trial_ will prove to the Galactic Council that we deserve their faith?" Prowl looked stunned.

"It's not ideal," Optimus shook his head, "But it's the only option we have.

Silence fell over the room. It weighed down on the small group like a thick fog. It stifled the room and its occupants began to smother in the mire of discomfort.

"Bullshit," Prowl broke the stillness.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from stifling, heated discomfort to a deadly chill. Optimus and Prowl locked eyes.

"What?" Optimus asked icily.

"Bullshit," Prowl repeated himself, "you're full of bullshit."

Optimus continued to glare at Prowl in silence but Prowl bravely ventured on.

"You think," Prowl's voice continued to rise as he spoke, his voice going from pleasant tenor to near shriek, "that everyone will just forget that we have laws in place to prevent this show court nonsense from happening? You think that because we supposedly have no other options— which we do, by the way— that the Galactic Council will forgive us? That Neutrals will stand up and cheer that we flouted the law? Blatantly flouted it?! No! They won't, Optimus Prime! They will mock us! Ridicule us! Beg for us to be murdered on the spot! The Decepticons still at large will want your head on a pike! You'll put every Autobot in danger because you can't let an old grudge go! Fuck you, Optimus!"

"How dare you speak to me like that, Prowl! I'm doing my best!"

"You're best?" Prowl screeched with indignity, "You're best, moron, would be to just recuse like you know you should and let someone else do it instead!"

"So that they can destroy Cybertron's future? No way in hell will I let that happen! You'll have to _kill_ me first!"

"Sirs," Ultra Magnus tried to calm the mood down, but to no avail. Optimus and Prowl were inches away from one another, murder in their eyes, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Ultra Magnus leapt to his feet and tried to push the two mechs away. The two struggled to push the hands of the much larger mech off their chests. However, Magnus held firm, keeping the peace as best as he could. Sadly, at that moment, Optimus's rage broke.

In one, fluid motion, Optimus wrapped his hands around Ultra Magnus's wrist and corkscrewed the joint in a painful twist. Ultra Magnus yelped as his wrist dislocated and his elbow shortly followed suit. Optimus looked horrified as he dropped the limp arm. Ultra Magnus sank to the floor in agony.

Prowl began to scream a long stream of obscenities. He wrenched his hand back and punched his numb leader straight in the mouth. Optimus fell into his chair, holding his mouth as engergon seeped from between his fingers. He staggered to his feet, his lip now swollen and split from the mangled faceplate that now dangled from a hinge on the side of the Autobot leader's face. Optimus looked at the resulting carnage.

"And I hope you burn in the pits of _hell_ you worthless, Decepticon-loving, son of a bitch!" Prowl continued to scream more obscenities.

Optimus could take no more. He was done.

"Both of you, _out_!" Optimus roared, jabbing his finger at the door. "I'm staying and that's _final_!"

Ultra Magnus left without a backward glance, clutching his injured arm. Ratchet was not going to be happy. Prowl, however, took the time to glance over his shoulder at his shaking leader.

"I hope you appreciate what you've done, _Prime_ ," Prowl hissed, "You may have just doomed us all. I hope it was worth it."

With that, the door closed behind him.

Optimus's knuckles strained with the force of his clenching. He then collapsed, deflated, into his hated chair. He clutched his temples and moaned. He sat there, frozen in his anguish for what felt like eternity.

The automatic lights in Optimus's office turned off, leaving the great Optimus Prime alone to wallow in his darkness.


	4. Chapter 3

Cybertronian Calendar 67th Cycle 04

I awoke to the sound of hospital machinery. That sound is never pleasant to hear upon one's awakening. I immediately became nervous. Beeps, clicks, and whirrs filled my ears with their sickening sounds. I felt needles wiggle in my arms as I twitched in discomfort, making me even more nauseous. I hate hospitals.

"She's coming around," a faint voice announced in the distance.

"Okay, let's help her out," I heard another voice command, "inject 30 standard units of concentrated energon. That should jolt her systems back to full working capacity."

I felt a burning liquid rush into my arm. It stung and burned as it dashed through my circulation. Every wire in my body tensed. My sensors blazed to life, overwhelming my brain with a deluge of information.

My eyes flew open and I bolted upright. Gentle hands caught my shoulders to steady me.

"Easy, Princess," Doctor Toudou reassured me.

Dr. Toudou was a rather portly looking gentleman. His build was wide and sturdy with a rather plain white and grey paint scheme and a simple black helmet to complete his simple looks. Yet, despite his rather dumpy and plain appearance, he had a friendly face. His yellow eyes sparkled with kindness that lit up his cherubic visage. He was the only doctor that Father entrusted with the lives of the Royal family. I had to agree. This jovial mech's sturdy digits supported me like I was a delicate flower. I could also discern that he was watching me closely for any signs of discomfort.

When I failed to make any disturbing motion, Dr. Toudou carefully removed his grip on my shoulders, and eased me back onto the pillows to support my head, neck, and back. Assured that I was recovering, he stood to his full height, towering over me as I lay bedridden.

"Princess," he addressed me by title, "I have some questions for you."

"Please," I nodded and gestured to a vacant chair by my hospital bed's nightstand, "by all means."

Dr. Toudou nodded gratefully, and quietly drew the chair beside my bed. He sat so that we remained eye-to-eye. And I noticed that he had lifted a notepad and pen that I had not noticed before. He was obviously preparing to ask some questions about my condition.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions, Princess," the good Doctor prefaced, "they're mostly about your symptoms before your collapse and how you are feeling now. So, do not be alarmed."

I was not.

"It's no problem at all, Doctor," I nodded.

Dr. Toudou smiled.

"Good," he adjusted his position so that he could comfortably write in his lap, "I'd like to first ask for your permission to be observed."

"Observed?"

My heart began to race.

"I have a new apprentice, you see," Dr. Toudou explained to calm my nerves, "He's about to complete his training. So, I thought that he could observe what I am doing to gain some more experience before he takes his Medic's Exam."

I blinked. I was not certain if I wanted a novice to see me in my current state. Dr. Toudou obviously saw my discomfort.

"He's an exceptional student," Dr. Toudou pressed on, "the best I've had. He works very hard. Also, extremely studious. Talented too."

"He can observe," I relented.

"Oh! Thank you, Princess!" Dr. Toudou gasped, he obviously had been nervous that I would reject his pupil, "He'll be thrilled to hear that! I'll let him in!"

Dr. Toudou rapidly crossed the room and stuck his head into the hallway. He turned to re- enter as another mech followed behind him.

From what Dr. Toudou had described, I had expected a reedy, bookish individual. The young man who entered behind Dr, Toudou was neither of those things. He was tall and handsome. He had a well-proportioned body and a paint job of snow white and crimson red. His body had bright accents of black and gold with a head crest that reminded me of a knight in shining armor.

I felt my heart race as he leveled his teal gaze upon my prone figure. He graciously bowed to me. He lifted my hand with one of his crimson ones. His body was warm and surprisingly unmarked for a lower-class citizen. I will not lie, I was glad at this moment that I had agreed to meet this young man.

"It is my pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Princess," he had a voice like ringing bells and a rich, deep choir. He then kissed the back of my hand.

I swooned.

"Princess," Dr. Toudou interrupted my thoughts, "may I introduce my number one student, Duke, Son of Regina of Daitei-Oh and Ganbaruger?"

The young gentleman shifted, obviously embarrassed at being pointed out with such high praise. I nodded to acknowledge his presence while I pondered if the young man before me was a nobleman. I doubted it, since he was a blend of two Guardian lines. Nobles tended to not mix bloodlines, however, due to our limited numbers, every Eldranian was some mix of all four Guardians. My own mother, for example, was a daughter of Daitei-Oh and Raijin-Oh. Father married her because she was one-fourth Raijin-Oh, which is a higher concentration than the average Eldranian, in an attempt to turn the Royal family into a "purer" line than the mix we had become. Father was a mix of mostly Raijin-Oh, with very little Ganbaruger, and Gosaurer bloodlines. If this young man was a noble, and not some commoner, I perhaps could meet my husband today. The thought made me blush.

Dr. Toudou broke me out of my thoughts as he moved to sit beside me again.

"Princess," he began, "can you tell me what you were doing before you fainted?"

"I had just woken up and was waiting for my chambermaids to help me get prepared for the day."

"Then?"

"I was walking to my desk to write in my journal, but the world started spinning. That's when I fainted."

"Anything else?"

"No."

"Any other symptoms?"

"No."

"I see," Dr Toudou finished scribbling down his notes, "Princess, if you don't mind, I will excuse myself to check the computer for a minute. I will leave Duke with you to monitor your progress until I return. Rest well"

He stood and bowed before sweeping out of the room. The handsome Duke began to check the monitor beeping rhythmically over my bed's headboard.

We stood in silence for several moments.

"I thank you for your assistance," I blurted.

He looked down at me with faint surprise in his eyes.

"It is no problem, Princess," Duke smiled, "I must thank you again for allowing me the pleasure of aiding you."

"You are most welcome," I smiled back, "may I inquire why you are interested in the field of medical care?"

"Certainly. It is because I want to work for the Brave Police," Duke said as he checked my vitals, "They're in need of a Medic, so I intend to fill that role."

"I was under the impression that one must be a registered police unit before becoming a member of the Brave Police."

"That's true," Duke nodded, "But I've wanted to be a Brave Police Medic since I was very young. I'm taking the BPRE next month."

"The BPRE?"

"The Brave Police Registration Exam."

"I see. I wish you the best of luck."

"Thank you, Princess."

Upon Dr. Toudou's return, I was told that I would remain in the hospital for another day. Apparently, they still have no clue what is wrong with me. I sincerely hoped that I would be cleared soon. However, there is a silver lining: I have more time to talk to Duke.

Left to my own bedridden devices, I decided to watch the news while I embroidered a silk cloth. When Eldranians still travelled the stars, we were renown traders. In exchange for our technology, we would often receive exotic, organic luxuries. Organic silk was something highly coveted in Eldranian society. However, only the wealthiest of nobles, like my family, could afford enough silk to make elegant capes and coverings like the one I was decorating.

Father insisted that he, Mother, and I always wear embroidered silk in public. This cape I was making now was for a Gala scheduled for the following week. I was using silk thread woven with silver and gold to weave small diamonds into intricate shapes of flowers and flames, symbols of Eldranian wealth and power respectively. I could have had my handmaidens carefully weave the threads and diamonds through the dark purple fabric, but sometimes I preferred to do the work myself.

I was broken out of my thoughts as the screen above me flashed. There was important breaking news. I stopped the careful movement of my fingers to cast my eyes to the screen. I saw the headline and my world shattered.

"Sovereign Proteus Encourages Cybertronian Senate to Turn Over Autobot Payroll to Talus."

I dropped my needle and thread.

I still do not know much about Cybertronian Government and Society, but I do know that the Autobots are the Cybertronian equivalent to the Brave Police. They are a police force. Now Father had the power to pay off any Cybertronian Police officer.

For some reason that thought did not still well with me. On the one hand, this was another method of necessary control over the Cybertronians. Now Eldran controlled both what the laws were and how they were enforced. So, that should be something I rejoiced. However, there was a nagging doubt that settled like a black mist over my spark. I have become more accustomed to this sensation of doubt and disgust. He may be my Father, but I was beginning to disagree with Proteus's methods for ruling.

It was several more hours before I was cleared to leave my hospital bed. The entire time, I felt the unease grow from a gentle mist to a dense fog. In times like these, where I am at my most vulnerable and uncertain, I needed to read.

I left for the Talus Library, but I found no solace there. I find much more solace in these pages. Writing of my family's injustice is far more cathartic than ignoring it. I am not like Mother. So, I returned home. I began to write in the Palace Library, but my angst turned quickly to boredom. I then stopped writing and began to explore the shelves to find a volume to read.

I've already read all the books and scrolls that the main Palace Library has to offer. I was not in the mood for re-reading anything. I needed more stimulation than that. So, I set off into one of the hidden antechambers. The Palace Library supposedly has approximately twenty of these hidden rooms, but I have not found them all yet, so I am not sure how much is truly hidden in the Library. Today I decided to find a new one, rather than go into a chamber I already knew.

I began my search by asking Kakikomi, the old librarian. She was the one who showed me the antechamber system when I was a youngling. Naturally, I asked if she had found any new secrets. Her yellow eyes sparkled as she said that she found some signs of a new chamber, but the door remained hidden. Thus, our adventure began!

She led me to a corner of the library that had a reading alcove. It was not large, barely enough to fit the small bookshelf and worn armchair within its walls. However, the rooms small size surprisingly helped to hide the trapdoor under the rug on the floor. Kakikomi and I felt rather foolish for spending two full hours trying to scour the alcove when the hidden door was beneath our feet all along!

We traveled down the trapdoor's steps and came upon an old locked, wooden door. Kakikomi picked the lock. I don't know why she knows how to do that, but she is always surprising me with some hidden skill. Perhaps it is her age that gave her the time to learn many tricks.

Within the tiny space beyond the door, I discovered a series of large scrolls on the only shelf which lined the far wall, written in High Eldranian. I guessed that this was a storage room and that the scrolls were invaluable lost information. To test my theory, I asked Punctilus, the Chief Manservant, to get a team of servants to find the Vivacus Tomes. The Vivacus Tomes are the only volumes written in both High and all four Middle Eldranian dialects. I can read Raijin, Saurer, and Daitei Middle Eldranian (my Ganbaruger is rather rusty) without much difficulty, but High Eldranian is long-dead and very infrequent to find. Therefore, it is exceptionally rare to be versed in the language. I needed a translation tool. It took many hours of digging with a team of five servants and myself all scouring the Palace Library to find them, but once I found the Vivacus Tomes, I holed myself up in a corner at an old desk and began my work.

The scrolls began with "All Hail, Behold, and Delight in the Might of our Beloved Queen Juna, for she holds the Soul of Eldran—the Guiding Light of New Dawn. Blessed be her daughters, the future Queens of Eldran, for they too shall be as gifted as our Beloved. All be transfixed by Queen Juna and her majestic histories. Glory be to Juna." Since that title is rather long and cumbersome, I personally call them the "Juna Scrolls."

The texts told the story of the First Queen of the Four Guardians, Juna. There are modern legends about her, of course, but they have been long twisted and forgotten by history. The legend goes that Juna was Raijin-Oh's first daughter. Soon after she was born, a Great Exodus was ordered to find the other clans who had separated long ago. After several centuries, she had gathered all the clans together and we have been living as one ever since. But the texts said so much more.

According to the translation, Juna was born as a daughter of the Raijn-Oh clan. She was not of any special birth, for she was merely a trader in her youth. As she reached her adult years, many oddities began to occur around her. She could accurately perceive the feelings of those around her; weird weather patterns occurred as she slept at night; creatures of all kinds would flock to her as she walked through the forests. The list went on and on, but the one that caught my eye was the stories of objects moving around without her touching them.

"Telekinesis," I whispered to myself.

I decided to test my internal, half-formed hypothesis. I looked at a scroll that had rolled out of arm's reach. It took several minutes of concentration, in hindsight I must have looked crazy, but eventually the scroll began to wiggle. It wavered momentarily, before skittering across the table and back into my hand. With my suspicions confirmed, I immediately I dived back into the scrolls and devoured their contents.

I read that as Juna grew older, her powers became more powerful and her control over them grew. She then had a vision of Raijn-Oh, who demanded she would lead Clan Raijin to the other Clans. Together, they would search the stars for the true Homeworld.

I was both elated and confused. I had been taught since I was little that we had always been from Eldran. So then why was Great Raijin-Oh commanding we find Homeworld? The Juna Scrolls never answered this mystery. I suspected that the answers to my many questions were once held on these pages, but the poor condition of the scrolls prevented me from deciphering their meaning. The fragile, ancient papyrus was riddled with holes and smeared, faded ink. Yet, regardless of the difficulty, I pressed on.

The story then went on to call her powers "The Soul of Eldran". I found the name to be rather poetic, even though I had never heard the term before. These secret scrolls divulged so many ancient secrets, but left so many questions unanswered. But then, two words appeared on the page at random, the other characters surrounding them had long been erased by time:

"Hamelin System."

I searched through the scrolls for their meaning, but nothing gave me further clarification. The words were mentioned several more times, always in conjunction with The Soul of Eldran. So, perhaps they are connected? I then was thrown further into confusion as suddenly, the story jumped from Juna trying to convince Clan Raijin to leave their planet to Juna with all the clans gathered together on Eldran.

I tried to find another scroll. Perhaps one was missing? But to no avail. No scroll that filled in the missing pieces appeared. In frustration, I placed the Juna Scrolls back in their hiding place and left with my mood dourer than when I had arrived.

I hope tomorrow is less confusing.

Present Day

The noise was deafening. Thousands of Autobots packed the arena to watch the spectacle. They clamored and hollered trying to scream their hatred for the defendant since they couldn't shoot him.

Yet.

The crowd began to chant as Optimus entered the arena and approached the bench:

"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty!"

The chant was reaching an ear-splitting pitch.

"Order in the Court!" Optimus hollered as he sat down.

The tumult died down from a thunderous roar to a hissing babble. Raskol Arena, the huge stadium on Luna 2, was packed to the gills and the whole place covered in a brightly-colored throng that extended skyward as far as the eye could see. The glowing ball of Cybertron hung overhead, ringed by the spires of the stadium. It hung there, framed by the crowd, as if it was passing judgement upon the throng below.

Optimus himself sat on a bench in the center of the field at the bottom of the stadium. to his right, Ironhide stood with his arms folded over his chest and his guns at his hips. To Optimus's left, Elita sat, ready to record the proceedings.

In front of him, Prowl sat at a desk to Optimus's right. Ultra Magnus sat at a desk to the left, an open seat beside the giant blue mech was where Megatron would soon sit. The two mechs sent venomous looks between them. Prowl being careful to also send looks of loathing to the Prime above him. Optimus felt his spark drop.

Prowl was never going to forgive him. This trial had cost him a good, longtime friend.

Ultra Magnus adjusted his repaired arm. Optimus guessed that it probably still hurt a little. Optimus grimaced.

This trial may have cost him two friends.

Optimus decided to distract himself from the heartbreak by adjusting the Crown of the Primes on his head. Behind his mask, he grimaced. This large, obnoxious circlet of gold felt stupid to wear. This trial was already going to be uncomfortable enough without this constant reminder of the burden of his responsibilities bearing down on his brow. But no time to dwell on that. He shook himself as Ironhide tapped his shoulder, indicating that the hour had arrived. It was time to begin.

Optimus steeled himself.

"Bring in the accused," he said.

The gate at the far end of the arena opened. Megatron emerged, handcuffed and flanked by several rows of Magnus-sized soldiers. Noone was taking any chances. As soon as Megatron stepped into the glare of the stadium lights, the watching crowd burst into bloodthirsty howls of rage.

"Monster!" Optimus heard some scream.

"Murderer!"

"Psychopath!"

Optimus saw the soldiers tense and raise their weapons. Tempers were rising and someone could snap at any moment, either Megatron or the crowd. At this point, Optimus didn't know which would be more dangerous. Optimus glowered at his approaching rival, intending on intimidating the former Decepticon leader into nonaction, but paused.

Megatron looked shockingly calm and subdued for a mech in his position. He looked somewhat morose. Almost depressed. He held his chin high, but his steps were heavy and languid. Optimus saw his terrifying rival cover his mouth and his shoulders hitched. The movement made the silver mech grimace, which Optimus knew from centuries of experience fighting the stubborn Decepticon meant that he was in extreme pain.

A cough.

Megatron was sick.

Optimus glanced down at Elita. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and turned her stunningly blue eyes up to meet her husband's. She tilted her head inquisitively, clearly questing. Optimus darted his eyes between her and the approaching Megatron. She followed the movement. Optimus saw her eyes widen as she took stock of the approaching tyrant. She turned back to Optimus.

"Is he okay?" she mouthed, the corner of her mouth pulling downward to indicate her discomfort.

Optimus made a slight jerking motion with his shoulders. Elita's brow furrowed with worry. She clasped her wrist and squeezed it. A movement that spoke volumes to Optimus about her love and support. Even when she wasn't able to physically be there with him, she always had his back. Optimus smiled sadly at her.

Optimus tore his gaze away from Elita and back to the haggard Megatron. This time taking stock of the mech's subtle ticks. Through the years, he had learned to read Megatron almost as well as he could read his best friend, Ironhide. He guessed that Megatron didn't read him in the same way. The tyrant was too selfish to notice his opponent's finer emotions. It was a little skill that Optimus was glad he had. It was the one advantage that he had over the fearsome warrior and strategist. It had saved his life many times, taking advantage of Megatron's mood. Otherwise, Megatron surely would have added Optimus' head to his trophy collection of Prime Heads a long time ago.

Optimus watched.

Megatron's eyes were usually a bright shade of burning scarlet that darted quickly around, taking stock of everything. Nothing ever escaped the notice of those watchful eyes and the darting became more prominent when Megatron was deep in thought. Also, Optimus knew that when Megatron was feeling particularly emotional, they flashed even brighter like two red-hot fireballs. But there was nothing more terrifying than when those eyes stopped darting. When they focused on a target with the feeling of boring into the very spark like a twin laser. Optimus suppressed a shiver. He vividly remembered the overwhelming sense of fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm him every time those eyes honed in on him. It was like he could feel death itself breathing down his neck. Like he was going to be ripped apart and consumed by the jaws of an insatiable, violent predator. As if Megatron's very tenacity and wants were made manifest into a seething spear of hatred.

Today, Megatron's eyes had very little light behind them. They looked dim and cloudy. They barely moved, hardly moving from some vacant space in the distance. But there was no focus; no intense feeling of determination, desire and hatred. The eyes remained aloft only to please the crowd. They didn't care what they were looking at. The fire was extinguished.

Optimus switched his gaze to the corners of Megatron's mouth. Optimus knew Megatron well enough that he knew that he was a phenomenal actor. It was what made him a fantastic rhetorician and liar. Megatron's unparalleled ability to hide his real feelings by employing a carefully constructed veil of either total indifference or blind rage was a skill Optimus secretly yearned he had. Being both a leader and an open book could be extremely taxing, so Megatron had the luxury of mystique and mystery about him. But the corners of the silver tyrant's mouth were one of those subtle hints into the mech's inner workings.

Optimus remembered the few times that they had tried to work out their differences and sign a peace treaty. Those two instances were the most impactful for Optimus. Being in such close proximity to the Decepticon leader when he wasn't angry was a fun learning experience. The little twitches spoke more volumes than any conversation. For example, he asked during the first set of negotiations that the Decepticons repair damages caused to historical monuments. Optimus watched as the right corner of Megatron's mouth had twitched upward very slightly, almost the hint of a smile. But the Decepticon leader instead leapt into a roaring tirade about 'sentimental Autobots' and 'useless Functionist trash'. It took all of Optimus' mental and physical capabilities to not burst into laughter at that point.

Optimus suppressed a chuckle at the memory. He composed himself enough to continue his inspection of his feared enemy. Megatron's mouth was as stony and lifeless as his eyes. His lips didn't move, and were set in a neutral line on his face. Occasionally, they would grimace slightly, betraying the anguish that Megatron was experiencing, before immediately falling back to their neutral expression. It was such a stark contrast, the eyes and the lips, from the confident stride that Megatron was attempting to portray.

Attempting and failing, since Optimus could now see how hard the former tyrant was working to keep himself upright, and every step looked like it caused immense pain. The dull eyes and grimacing only served to break the spell of forced confidence further.

But Optimus could see that the crowd was buying it. They howled and screamed, not noticing the tyrant's pain. Nor was Megatron going to let them. This was simply another act for him. Playing the part of the unrepentant tyrant to satiate the hungry crowd's thirst for blood. If they were going to destroy Megatron, then he was going to let them think that they had terminated him in his prime. An ultimate vindication, since there was no satisfaction in killing a sickly mech, no matter how heinous the crimes he had committed.

Optimus realized that he had never appreciated how much his opponent cared about putting the desires of the masses over his personal comfort. His writings, his speeches, even Megatron's actions were all tailored to appeal to what the masses wanted. Optimus wondered how long someone could handle acting in the interests of others. Optimus briefly wondered in Megatron had played to the crowd for so long that he had forgotten what it was like to be himself. How long could someone last before selflessness burns them out? How long could one go on by ignoring their own wants and needs? Helping oneself was just as important as helping others. It keeps the heart and mind fresh and available. It never served anyone to, as the humans put it, burn the candle at both ends. And as Optimus stared at the approaching figurehead, he found the answer.

Megatron looked tired.

He looked old.

Optimus frowned, catching himself wringing his hands. He swallowed the lump in his throat. This was not the time to get emotional. After all, the mech had insulted his intelligence a mere few hours ago. The image of a wild, wounded animal that lashed out in pain and fear bubbled up unbidden in his mind's eye. Optimus felt the guilt bubble up in his chest again.

"You are a complicated enigma, Megatron," Optimus thought.

He caught Prowl's eye. The small police car looked thunderous. Optimus guessed that Prowl had noticed his internal conflict. Optimus had no choice but to awkwardly break the contact and stare back up at Megatron, who finally drew up to Ultra Magnus' side.

The crowd continue to roar. It was now up to him to restore some semblance of order and civility. Optimus glanced once more at Elita. His wife gave him a single nod and an encouraging smile. Optimus Prime stood.

"The Court is now in session," he announced.

The crowd became a hushed murmur of baited anticipation.

"Prosecution," Optimus called to Prowl, "you may begin your opening statement."

Prowl stood. He walked to his podium, shuffling information on a datapad as he approached. The police car scanned the watching crowd. He had a serious, stern look that Optimus knew only too well. Prowl flared the wing-like doors on his back, and began.

"Cybertronians," he addressed the crowd, "I, Prowl, represent the Prosecution on behalf of the Greater Populace of Cybertron in this case. The defendant, Megatron of Tarn, is charged with crimes against the species, which denotes a broad category of crimes that includes, but is not limited to, a series of grade-1 atrocities.which resulted in the loss of 16 billion Cybertronian lives and a further 200 billion organic lives on sovereign worlds. Each charge will each be specified in more detail during the the Prosecution's case-in-chief. During the following proceedings, the Prosecution will call forth witnesses to explain the depth and severity of these heinous crimes. Such evidence that I will put forth against the defendant will conclusively prove beyond a reasonable doubt the defendant's guilt, and I urge the esteemed court to enter the most logical and just punishment to recompense Cybertron: public execution.

The crowd bayed at the final statement.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" they chanted.

Optimus swallowed.

This was going to get ugly.

Meanwhile, hidden in the shadows, he did what he had always done.

Watch.

Wait.

Protect.

The white orator was clearly hostile and would be treated as such. The blue one was hard to judge, so he would watch that one closely but presently take no aggressive action against. The red one could be an ally, thereby staying his hand for the time being. His eyes darted around the stadium, taking in every possible bit of data.

Hundreds of potential scenarios played in his mind. He selected the most likely occurrences to the forefront of his mental faculties. He began to narrow down his options to the most efficient and effective few. Then, he calculated plans to achieve the scenarios. Alternatives and hypotheticals to these scenarios played in his head, and counter-plans and adjustments were factored in. Variances were quantified and calibrated to the schema. He selected his tools and calculated his precise routes and vectors. Within a span of time faster than the blink of an eye, his mind was prepared for the task at hand.

Time to go to work.


End file.
